Remembering

When the September 11th attacks started, Greg was on an airplane, on his way from Madison, Wisconsin to Denver, Colorado for a trade show.

I was sitting at my desk when a co-worker walked by and said that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. She said they thought it was a small private plane, and beyond a thought of, oh, that's terrible, none of us thought much more about it.

Then someone else came to my department and said another plane had hit the other tower and we all knew.

I went into the conference room, where we have a TV, and tried to get a local channel without the benefit of an antenna or cable TV. We could see snowy footage of the towers burning on every channel.

I went to the internet and looked up Greg's flight information. I checked it repeatedly and it said, "in flight" each time, until finally it said he had landed in Denver.

My mom called, crying, and I told her with confidence that the website said he was on the ground in Denver and that I'd call her as soon as I heard from him.

About an endless hour later, Greg called. He said he was OK and in Lincoln, Nebraska. I said, no, you're not, you're in Denver! He said he was in the airport in Lincoln and that he'd been watching the footage on TVs in an airport bar.

He said the flight seemed normal until the pilot came on the intercom and said they were putting down immediately. The pilot said there wasn't a problem with the plane, but wouldn't say anything else until they were on the ground. Then he told them.

Greg ended up spending three days in Lincoln, taken care of by airline personnel and the Red Cross. He couldn't find a way home. Amtrak doesn't run near Lincoln, all of the rental cars were gone, and there were no flights, obviously.

On the morning of September 14, his birthday, I opened the morning paper and read a story about the airline passengers who were stranded in Madison. They were renting U-Haul trucks and driving them home. Of course, U-Haul does one-way rentals all the time!

I called Greg's hotel room and left a message. I didn't hear back from him until about 9:30, when he called to tell me he was just over the border into Iowa. He drove a 24-foot rental truck from Lincoln to our home, completely empty except for him and his one suitcase in the front.

But he was home. So many others weren't and wouldn't ever be again. We will never forget.

Things I Can't Believe I Didn't Eat as a Child That Are Really Good, And Wasn't I Stupid (But I Don't Need You Saying So)

We've been at my parents' this weekend, but we're home now, back to our own bed. Yes, I know that statement means that we're old.

Regardless, here's the list as promoted above, in no particular order:

grilled cheese sandwiches
scrambled eggs
french toast
banana bread
french onion soup
tomato sauce
oatmeal cookies
Italian dressing
stuffing
chicken salad sandwiches (still not crazy about those, but I've eaten them)
canteloupe
pumpkin pie
gravy
salsa
rice
fish in any form, other than fish sticks
spinach leaves in salad
taco meat
mushroom soup
cherries (I still really only like these in pie)
brocolli
alfalfa sprouts
crabmeat stuffed into anything
shrimp

Don't you all pity my poor mother now? What she went through, trying to get me to eat. My husband still puts up with a lot of frustration, trying to cook things that are somewhat interesting to him that I will eat, but I really have come a long way.

For a good number of the above foods, I can distinctly remember when I ate these foods for the first time and liked them. I can also distinctly remember when my mom tried to get me to eat rice for the first time. It was one of those, "you're staying at the table until you eat that spoonful" nights. Never ate the rice, nope, not until I was about 25.

Cleaning up

We have a cleaning lady. We've had three different cleaning ladies, actually, one who stopped showing up, one who wasn't very good so we dumped her, and our current one. I don't like spending money so someone does something we absolutely are capable of doing ourselves, but I love not having to clean.

Peggy is coming tomorrow. That means we've done our normal Tuesday night run around, picking up the entire house for the cleaning lady. I say we, but I really mean me. I run around picking up the entire house while Greg makes fun of me for cleaning before the cleaning lady comes.

I'm of the opinion that it pays to pick up for the cleaning lady, because if she spends less time picking up and moving things, she'll spend more time actually scrubbing (and boy, does our house always need scrubbing).

So I have to go now, because the kitchen counter downstairs is covered with kid art projects, unpaid bills, tomatoes (my garden is going great right now!), pens and markers, snack bags full of cereal, and god only knows what else.

I have to go make yet another "bag of mysteries" and hide all our crap. Tomorrow night, my house will be clean and I will be a little poorer. It's worth every penny.

The Unbirthday List

Things I am not getting my husband for his 40th birthday in the middle of September, despite the fact that he has asked for most of them:

1. A new motorcycle (the one he bought last year is just fine, in my opinion)

2. A new BMW automobile (I don't have $40,000 lying around, which I think would buy the one he wants)

3. A hooker

4. Rock star status (if he really wants that one, he'll have to work on it himself)

5. Nicer children (he's stuck with the ones we have--I'm not having any more)

6. A convertible (see explanation for #2, above)

7. Cooking lessons with Julia Child (that would be cool, except that she's dead)

I'm probably going to keep adding to this list, up until the actual day. Happy unbirthday, Gregory!

Free for the taking

All I can think about is money.

For the last week and a half, I've been working on calculating annual pay changes for all of the employees of my company, 1300 people.

Manufacturing hourly, office hourly, and salaried are all done separately and with slightly different methods. I've helped a very small amount with this process in the past, but now it's my baby.

I'd love to take the time to automate some of the processes, but this is not going to be the year for that. So I've been crunching numbers and trying variations in the statistics for a week and a half now, with very few breaks to do something else.

I'm pretty close to being finished now, but the company president needs to make a couple of decisions that could cause me to have to start about half the project all over again.

I want this to be over. I want my life back. I want to take a day off work.

Who wants some money? Anyone? I'll just give it away and then I can be finished. Whatta ya say?

Haunting pasts

It's amazing what "hijinks" people have hiding in their pasts. I say hijinks, but what I really mean is that recently, someone told me about things they think of as pranks from their youth, and I was completely shocked to hear them.

I was asking this person's opinion about appropriate discipline for a guy in one of our plants who was hot and thirsty. He put money in the soda machine three times and it kept his money each time without dispensing product. He got so angry that he shook the machine and actually hit a timeclock that was on the wall adjacent to the soda machine. The timeclock fell off the wall and broke.

This person I work with, that I very much respect, initally made a joke about how angry the guy had been. We talked about how his actions were at least somewhat understandable, and both of us admitted that we've at least pounded on a vending machine when we could see, for example, that our bag of chips was just barely hanging there when it should have fallen.

I made the point that physically moving a soda machine was a higher level of property abuse. He then admitted that not only had he physically moved a soda machine lots of times in the past when trying to get product, but that he had once stolen a soda machine.

This is the same guy who told me recently that he and a buddy went down to the school bus parking lot one night when he was a kid. They used tape to attach sticks to all of the tire valve stems, so every bus had four or more flat tires by morning.

I already knew that this same guy got angry about 18 years ago with a co-worker at our company. He went over the co-worker and decked him--laid him out on the concrete floor at work.

Nowadays, that type of conduct would get you immediately fired. In fact, I've fired four people for fighting in the last month, including one who did a lesser degree of violence than that. What can I say--it's been hot and maybe everyone's been testy.

Nonetheless, I guess you just never know about people. I've known this person for 9 years and never would have guessed he'd have done any of those things. Well, maybe the bus tire thing, but not the others!

What did you do as a kid?

Old, old, old--really

I just typed a blog on July 13 about how I was feeling old, but now I really am another year older.

That's such a crock. Day before yesterday, I was 40 years and 364 days old and yesterday I became 41 years old. One whole day older, yet for that, I get another year tacked on. It sucks.

I'm not crazy about being 41. 40 was OK because it was still so close to 39. 41 is inescapably sliding down into the mid-40s.

I don't want to be mid-40s. I feel like about 31 most of the time. Can't I just be 31?

If anyone has an objection to me being 31, speak now or forever hold your peace. I can't imagine that anyone would care if I was 31 instead of 41, so I'm going to find my birthday cake candle, light it again, and make magic happen.

Wish me luck.

I've got the munchies now too

What food did we enjoy this past weekend at the Wisconsin State Fair? Well, as bizarre as this may seem, we didn't eat any cheese. How can this be, you may ask. In America's Dairyland? At the state fair? Well, it wasn't for lack of vendor opportunity.

There were numerous varieties of cheese around, including deep fried cheese, cheese on pizza, cheese curds, cheese on burgers, cheese blintzes, cheesecake, etc. And we didn't have any of it.

Instead, we ate corn on the cob, hot dogs, cream puffs, mini milk shakes (for the Got Milk? photo's mustaches), french fries, beignets, and popcorn. Oh my god, what an awful list!

We rushed home and gave our girls multivitamins immediately, I promise you. Oh, not really. But we have vitamins, I promise we do. We'll be stuffing them with at least seven a day for the next week to make up for the fair food.

Umm, what're we gonna do about next weekend? We're going to need more vitamins.

Rules for toast

1. If you are having more than one piece of toast to eat, each piece must be toasted separately, so as to be as hot as possible.

2. You will wait at the toaster for the toast to pop up. In no circumstances should you be further than 6 feet away from the toaster when it's toasting.

3. You will place the first piece toast on a new piece of paper towel for buttering, not on the counter. (This is how I knew Greg was the man for me--he did this even before I told him the rule.)

4. You will not use rock hard butter on the toast. You may use soft (tub) margarine, but the best topping for toast is butter that has been previously softened on the counter.

5. You will use a clean knife for buttering the first piece of toast. If someone has toasted before you and put jelly on their toast with a knife, get a new knife. This is technically in case they come back for another piece, but really, it's because you want a clean knife for your toast.

6. When you have finished evenly buttering your toast, there will not be big clumps of butter or margarine trying vainly to melt. All of the butter will be absorbed into the surface of the toast.

7. You will eat your toast starting with the bottom-most right corner (if you are right handed). I suppose if you are left handed, you may start with the bottom-most left corner, but that is an unusual option and the writer of the rules cannot guarantee satisfactory results.

8. Enjoy!

Musing on Q

Over the last couple of weeks, I rewatched the "Kill Bill" movies. We own the DVDs. They're strange and funny and gory beyond belief and amazing and weird and awesome.

They remind me of when I first saw "Pulp Fiction," which we also own but which I saw again on cable the other night. Greg and his friend, Dwayne, had gone to see the movie when it first came out and they told me I had to see it too.

We sat in the theater (me in the middle, of course) and I was doing fine with the story until the scene when Bruce Willis and Ving Rhames end up in the basement of the pawn shop.

If you haven't seen it, the store owner and his friend, the cop, are rapists and into S&M. They do einey-meeny-miney-moe to pick one of the guys, who are tied and gagged, then head into the back room and start to rape Ving Rhames.

I remember turning to Greg and whispering, "what the hell is this?"

I didn't do that with the "Kill Bill" movies. I had an idea what to expect and they didn't disappoint. Anyone for a sliced off arm spraying gallons of blood?

I didn't think so. Gotta be in the mood for it.

Update

Today marks the start of getting my life back.

I was promoted at the end of December, starting looking for someone to take over my old job at the end of February, interviewed five or six people, two of them twice, and finally made an offer at the end of June.

My new person started today and I am so looking forward to not doing these tasks again, maybe forever--- Seven months was way, way too long to be doing two jobs, especially considering I was doing a third job for a good part of that time.

The training is going to be a bear, but I don't care, I don't care (said in a singsong happy voice). I am a happy camper tonight.

If he quits, I'm going to go to his house and kill him.

Seminar sitting

I attended a benefits seminar today that was basically 7 hours of technical jargon, including immense numbers of acronyms.

I sat on my butt (or bum, if you're from England) and listened to the speakers more or less intently for seven long hours, interrupted only by lunch. I am so glad I don't have to do this every day.

When I got home, I commented to Greg that I absolutely don't understand how some people can attend an all-day seminar and never ask a single question or make a single comment. I am so not like that.

If I'm learning anything at all, I'm going to have a question or two. Was I (nearly) the only one who didn't already know everything they were talking about? Was I (nearly) the only one who didn't completely understand everything the speakers mentioned just by their PowerPoint slides and lecture?

A few years ago, I attended Berlitz language classes to try to learn Spanish in two and a half weeks. Now that was a lot of sitting! Eight hours a day of struggling to remember things from my one year of high school Spanish and build on them.

The only thing that saved me then was that there were only three of us students, so needless to say, it was pretty obvious when you were daydreaming.

I didn't daydream today, but I'm glad it's back to my normal work tomorrow.

Time's a-passing

It may not seem like many, but I've written exactly 150 posts in almost exactly three years, since I began writing in this blog that Greg made me start.

On my blog entry written on July 26, 2003, I wrote about counting down the last few days before our baby's birth. I also commented that Greg had picked up Allie and they were galloping all over the basement to bluegrass music as I typed. I said, "oh, the energy of a three-year-old."

And now Julia's turning three on Sunday. She's very excited. She's been talking about when her birthday was going to come since Allie had her birthday. I guess she thinks birthdays are a pretty good deal, what with the cake, ice cream, presents, and massive attention.

Our girls were born exactly three-and-a-half years apart, so it's been a long six months for the poor child.

Her party is on Saturday. It'll be the third annual Julia's Birthday Party Water Fight, an Elmo cake, great food cooked by Chef Greg, and a houseful of family who don't visit often enough.

She can't wait. I can't wait. Here's to happy birthdays!

Physicians are our friends

As you've probably heard from Greg, we went a little Ikea crazy this weekend. This was after we spent all day inside in air conditioning in Chicago (it was 95 outside) and after we had a lovely night's stay at a very nice suite hotel.

We got home Sunday evening and spent literally 4 hours assembling various pieces of new furniture (in Greg's case, assembling, then disassembling, then assembling again correctly--like the one I put together!). Sorry honey, but you don't make that many mistakes and I have to rub it in when it happens.

I don't even think I walked through tall grass all weekend, let alone brushed against any other plants. It was strictly concrete and carpeting. And we were inside approximately 99 percent of the time. So how did I get some kind of bite or plant reaction on each of my legs?

Nasty bites too--ones that were really itchy at first, then growing, then still growing until the one on my left leg was about six inches across. I talked to the nurse at work and then decided it might be prudent to see a doctor.

Dr. Bluemel was very nice but clueless as to what I actually had on my legs. He said, however, that there was obviously a secondary infection going on now and therefore an antibiotic would be a good idea.

Now it's about 29 hours later and the bites are much better. They both actually got even bigger after I saw the doctor before the pills kicked in and kicked butt. I'm planning on scrubbing off the lines drawn on my legs (used to measure where the swelling was progressing) in the morning.

In the meantime, it looks a little like I have some kind of Target tattoo. I love to shop there, but not that much. I guess I'll just have to continue getting better.

Creaky and old

I can't believe how much I enjoy watching "I Love the (70s, 80s, 90s)" on VH1. It's all so familiar and some of it seems so recent, not twenty years ago or longer.

I turned 40 last year and Greg turns 40 this year. I'm starting to have trouble reading really tiny type on things and I usually turn on a light when I need to do something detailed. I have some gray hair (though not as much as my sisters!). I sometimes feel creaky in the morning when I first get up, for a minute or two--usually my feet or my left knee (if I sat with my leg under me the night before).

I was thinking the other day that when my mom was the age I am now, I was already 15 years old and her oldest was 19 and on her own.

On the other hand, I have a six and a half year old and an almost three year old. I didn't plan it that way, but I think they'll keep me young for a good while yet.

Green trees and hugs

The other night, we drove up to Madison for dinner and it was just too nice of an evening to go straight back home (though that same situation landed us in trouble not too long ago--remember the horror of the Asian market!).

With these long summer evenings, we thought we'd have time to go to the nearby zoo, so we headed over there. Unfortunately, the zoo personnel must not share our belief that long summer evenings are a good time to look at animals, so they were closed.

Instead, we headed into the nearby arboretum, which is one of those places that we've read about and always thought would be fun to explore but we'd never actually been in yet despite the fact that we once drove around a good part of it trying to find Monroe Street or somewhere and we've lived here for nearly 9 years now (phew!).

So we drove in and it was kind of magical. Cool green tunnel of trees, water on one side, lots of bikers and joggers, and many, many squirrels. You would certainly never have thought that you were in a place surrounded on all sides by a city of 250,000. We saw more bunnies than you could shake a stick at, lots of birds, and even two sandhill cranes.

We parked and walked around exploring for almost an hour. My favorite memory of the evening--Greg and the girls had wandered away a little bit to explore a willow arbor/hut type of structure. Julia decided that instead of exploring further with them, she was going to head back to me.

And with a wide grin, arms outflung, giggling, she raced back towards me. I squatted down and caught her in a great, big hug. What a treat. Especially since that became a game for the rest of the evening.

She'd walk away, turn around, yell, "Sit down on your legs," wait for me to squat and open my arms, and come running like a madwoman.

I'm saving this stuff up, you know. She already tells me sometimes that she doesn't like me and I'm not looking forward to the first time she says she hates me.

I'll read this blog entry someday when she's 9 or 13 or 16 (or maybe all three) and I'll remember that enormous, joyous hug.

I love you, Julia.

Naked sliding

I don't know what type of paragraph you were expecting when you read that title, but the naked refers to an almost 3-year-old who refused to wear clothes while on the slip and slide the other day.

The slip and slide is new, you see. I got it out of the box on July 4th and put both girls in t-shirts and shorts to try it out (their swimsuits having been forgotten at daycare that day).

As you can see from the pictures on Greg's blog, Allie was perfectly happy keeping on her outfit while she got wet. Julia, however, is apparently a budding nudist.

Initially, she was OK getting wet wearing her t-shirt-and-shorts "swimsuit." Then she said she was cold, so I bundled her next to me on the blanket while we watched her sister slide, Julia wrapped tightly in a towel.

I thought she'd be more comfortable sitting there without her clingy wet t-shirt, so I helped her out of it, keeping the towel wrapped around her shoulders so she wouldn't get colder.

Almost immediately, she got over her goosebumps and decided she was ready to slide again. Except she decided she didn't need to wear her wet shorts or panties either. She pushed them off and took off towards the slide. I was laughing too hard to insist immediately, and by the time I started to press the issue, she was busy sliding and repeatedly told me, "I OK, I OK."

My daughter, the naturist. I got some cute pictures of her bare backside. I've got big plans for blackmail in about 14 years!

Showers ending early

It was pretty warm here today but the evening was nice, so the girls and I went out on the deck to read books.

We've had some nearby severe weather lately, but the worst has gone to the north and south of us. As a result, it hasn't rained much for awhile. I decided we should water my mini-garden.

My garden has three daylilies, two chewed down the nubs by rabbits and one glorious (183 blossoms this year despite no real care), some habernero peppers that don't seem to be growing (planted for my husband who loves hot food), a bunch of orange pansies (not that you would know they were orange because the aforementioned bunnies have eaten every last flower), a few marigolds (thank god bunnies don't like marigolds), and some tomato plants, which actually seem to be doing well and some of which have little green Roma tomatoes on them.

Naturally, both Allie and Julia wanted to hold the nozzle of the hose, which naturally drips. I cautioned them once to be careful of their clothes and then gave up, since it was within a half hour of bedtime (and pajamas) anyway.

Five minutes later, Allie asked if she could run through the shower of spray, and five minutes after that, they were both completely drenched, shrieking in joy, and giggling helplessly. And that water was cold!

Daddy was nice enough to get towels and both girls went to bed with damp, towel-dried hair. Actually, Allie just went to bed five minutes ago because she begged Daddy to catch fireflies tonight.

And who knows when she'll be able to get to sleep. It's the night before Independence Day (yes, from those long-ago nasty British, but we like them now!) and everyone is showing off their fireworks. Snap, crackle, pop, and boom!

Happy Fourth of July, a little early.

Feline friends

I've always loved cats. When I was a kid, my sisters and I brought home two cats (sequentially), but they were mostly my mom's pets. One died in the street in front of our house while I was in first grade. The other died at home while I was away at college. My parents haven't had another cat since.

After I had moved out on my own for a few years, I moved to a new apartment just so I could get a cat. I had Butterscotch for twelve years, until he became very ill with liver cancer and we had him put to sleep. His ashes are in a small urn on our fireplace mantel. They've been there for four years now.

We were going to bury the ashes in the yard, but somehow we've never done it. I don't hold the urn and remember him or anything, but I kind of like having them near.

Now today my sister called to say that her ten-year-old cat, Reebok, has been diagnosed with kidney failure. I've been searching websites for information, trying to find out what therapies are available and if kitty dialysis is even a possibility.

Our current cat, Pig, has diabetes. I wrote about her awhile back. Other than giving her prescription cat food and the fact that she pees a LOT, she's been stable for more than a year without further treatment.

When she was diagnosed, I also did research on the web. There is alot of information available. There are also lots of stories of the ups and downs some people have gone through as they fight to keep their cats alive through various illnesses.

And there are memorial pages with stories of how cats have changed the lives of people forever.

Reebok is a wonderful cat. I wish strength for my sister and her husband as they make the difficult choices that lie ahead.

Stupid people everywhere

I'm still around.

The guy I fired the other day called my voice mail this morning and said he got his termination letter. He said he was going to mail in his I.D. badge and that he'd be expecting a check for the vacation he has coming. He sounded perfectly rational. Let's hope he stays that way!

In the meantime, I'm going to be disciplining three people tomorrow who thought it would be funny to pour rubbing alcohol on part of their workstation and light it on fire--twice.

I don't even know what to comment on that.

One last message

It's come to this. Greg and I are in our bedroom, it's almost 10 p.m., and he's on our bedroom computer looking at the internet while I'm on another computer blogging. We're not talking, we're not even looking at each other or saying spousely things like, "honey, look at this wild website."

We're clicking and mousing and almost completely ignoring each other. Such progress these modern times have brought.

And whose fault is it, you may say? Yup. I know.

On another note, I decided I'd better blog tonight because I wrote a termination letter today to a guy who's kind of unstable. He's going to get it tomorrow and since he lives in town, he might just decide to come down to the plant and kill that not-so-nice human resources lady who fired him.

I knew that I should make an effort to blog one last time, so see! I'm ignoring my husband for a good reason.

In all seriousness, I'm a little concerned about what this guy might do tomorrow and in the future. I told him flat out in the letter that if he shows up on our premises, we're calling the police.

I'm sincerely hoping that won't be necessary. And if I die (dramatic pause, with hand held to forehead in oh-so-classic overacting style), it was nice knowing you all!

Still alive

Well, my mom didn't call today to check on us, but we're all still alive.

Greg is coming home shortly. He may have to travel again at the end of this month, though, and that would suck.

Allie's still breaking out in near tears every now and then. The two of us were talking about this weekend, however, when her aunties and grandparents are coming to visit and I didn't realize it, but Julia was listening and storing things away.

She's woken up the past two mornings and her first words, after, "Morning, Mommy," have been, "Is Gamma here?" I keep telling her, soon, honey, soon!

Gotta take my vitamins

Yes, we're all still alive. It doesn't escape my notice that my mom always calls at least once per day when I'm home alone with the girls and Greg's traveling. It's always nice to talk to her, but I don't worry (and neither should she) anymore about me keeling over from a stroke or something and Allie and Julia having to survive on ketchup and mustard for three or four days.

There was a blurb in the newspaper not that long ago about a three-year-old with that exact situation. Her mom died of some kind of chronic condition and they found the little girl sitting by her mom's body. She was covered with ketchup and mustard, which was all she'd found to eat. They also found a wet washcloth, so she'd tried to wash her mom's face to wake her up.

She was only a little dehydrated, so she must have been able to reach the sink pretty well. See, this is why we have stepstools at every sink in our house! Someday, we'll put them away, and I'll still lean in from far away like they're still there because they've been in place for so long.

Nonetheless, Allie is almost 6 1/2 now. She knows perfectly well how to unlock the door and head to the neighbors if something's wrong. However, I can pretty much guarantee she'd leave the door wide open and the cat would get out. I guess I'd better stay healthy.

Random updates

Allie's last day of kindergarten is tomorrow. She hasn't cried yet at home, but I'm sure we're going to see tears tomorrow night. Fortunately, her kindergarten teacher lives less than a block from our daycare, where Allie will be spending the summer days, so she should see her at least occasionally.

I just re-read my post from last September 17, when she had just started school. If I knew how to add a link to it, I would.

Last year in August, I posted the story of Betsy and Chris, who lost their beautiful brick house in our local tornado. She didn't know it, but Betsy was about two weeks pregnant when the tornado came. To give the update on them, they had their third child and first boy on May 9, about two weeks after they moved into their rebuilt house.

I went for a short drive last night and passed by their house. They were outside, working on teaching Maddie, the oldest, how to ride her bike without training wheels. Betsy said they've gotten their pool filled and gotten the mechanicals to work, just in time for hot weather.

They're looking forward to doing something about landscaping soon, pretty much the last step in the rebuild, so they can be done with builder decisions and get back to the rest of their lives.

I understand it took very little time for them to move back in, since they only have new furniture and clothing. The ironic part is that ten minutes after I left them, the tornado sirens went off.

It was a tornado warning for a storm cell that was in the northern part of our county (we live in the far southeast corner of the county). A weak tornado touched down several times, tipped over some semis on the freeway, took a roof off one house, shredded some trees. There but for the grace of God . . .

The tornado last August went through one mile north of our house.

On another subject, I'm doing OK with my new job. I like what I do, but I'm still doing most of my old job because I haven't found the right person with the right mix of skills to take that stuff over. I'm not looking to directly replace myself, by the way. I want someone who's stronger in several areas than I was, but at this point, I'm going to settle for the kind-of-right person so I can get my life back.

We took our tan Mazda sedan in to a new mechanic yesterday--second time it's been in for an issue with engine hesitation that mechanics can't seem to find, let alone fix. Greg wants to get the car repaired so he can sell it and buy another one. He's not going to be able to sell it at this rate! Very frustrating.

I've written several times in the past about Julia's verbal skills. She's doing really well now. She named her first stuffed animal, her bear from Build-A-Bear Workshop, without calling it what it is (i.e. Dolly for a dolly, Kitty for a kitty). Julia's bear that Allie named Carol (that's a story in itself, ask my husband) is now named Jane.

Julia uses long phrases now and she's beginning to tell herself elaborate stories when she's bored, just like Allie has been doing for years. It can get a little loud in the car on long trips. Fortunately for my aching heart that isn't ready to have her be done being a little girl, she still says things like "no no" for window and "poo der" for computer.

Allie used to have a bunch of those, including "pas getti" for spaghetti. The only one I still hear her say regularly is "cah ler pitter" for caterpillar.

And now tomorrow she'll be done with kindergarten. I know that before long, she's going to be driving.

The horror, the horror!

Friday night, I was hungry for barbecue, so we headed out to the local franchise of Famous Dave's. We had a mixed results dinner, mixed because my food was really good and the girls were happy, but Greg had a sausage as part of his platter that was actually cold, not just not hot.

We never feel like just heading home to the suburbs after eating, so Greg suggested going to the Asian market down the street to pick up some more of a sauce that he likes. I thought it would be an interesting excursion--you always hear about the exotic (to American eyes) vegetables and fruits these markets carry, plus the interesting variety of canned goods, and I lead a very sheltered life, so I was happy to concur.

The market, which a sign said was affiliated with IGA, was bustling. We found a parking space and walked in. I have the normal expectations for a grocery store--clean, well-lighted, wide selection, good service, good prices. Well----

The store was well-lighted. It had a wide selection of interesting food items. There was good service (we initially had a problem finding the sauce Greg wanted and we were asked at least twice if we needed any help). The prices seemed in line.

It was not clean. Oh my god. Oh my god. The first thing we encountered was a god-awful smell of garbage from somewhere right by the entrance. Julia was walking and immediately said, "I smell something." Yup, we sure did.

Right inside the entrance were stacks and stacks of rice in 50 lb. bags, which Allie was curious about, since they don't have those at our local grocery. They appeared to be sitting right on the not-too-clean floor. Did I mention that there were bugs flying around us initially?

We proceeded to the sauce aisle. The whole store was very busy, so I picked up Julia to keep her out of people's way (and, I confess, so she wouldn't touch anything). Now I'm not one of those moms who carries sanitizing handi-wipes everywhere in case my kids get their hands dirty. After all, just three weeks ago, we spilled popcorn on the sidewalk and Julia got down there and ate some before we could stop her. But this was different.

Greg found his sauce and we explored a little bit. After all, as far as I was concerned, I wasn't ever coming back to the place. There were interesting fruits and vegetables, but then we hit the oh-my-god jackpot.

On the floor next to the fish counter (which had prominent but stained and tattered signs saying that only store personnel were allowed to put their hands into the seriously-needing-a-cleaning-or-maybe-they-should-just-throw-them-out-and-start-over fish case), was a cardboard box.

The box contained blue crab. Greg says they were alive, I don't know because I didn't want to look that closely I was busy holding my nose (not literally, but not because I didn't want to). Two people were using a pair of tongs to sort through them, and the smell was enormous.

I did notice that the box said it was leakproof, but someone's going to need to speak to the manufacturers about a warranty issue, because a stream of green god-knows-what liquid streamed across the aisle from the bottom of the box.

It smelled so bad. Greg (and unfortunately Allie) have very well developed senses of smell. I think Allie was literally holding her nose and Greg was retching in the frozen food aisle.

We quickly exited the premises with Greg's sauce and some glass noodles. Greg is going to have to find a new supplier for his sauce. This place needs to be burned down. You know, purifying flame?

I'll be at home 20 miles or so away, holding my nose.

Memorial Day weekend

I spent two and a half hours yesterday going through kids clothes and sorting out what we're going to keep, what we're going to give to St. Vinnie's, and what we're going to store, either until fall (if the girls still fit into them) or until Julia grows. She's such a little peanut; she still fits into some 18-month clothes (a little short on the legs but they still pretty much fit) even though she'll be 3 at the end of July.

Nothing like Allie, who wore her 0-3 month clothes for about 2 weeks before moving on to larger sizes. Nonetheless, I dug through the stored accumulation of Allie's old clothing and Julia now has a huge summer wardrobe and St. Vinnie's is getting five bags of baby clothes, blankets, and potty-training pants that we never used because once both of our children decided they were potty-training, they were trained.

I found out that we have an immense supply of old diapers, pull-ups and so on. Included in this is an entire unopened pack of size 4 diapers left over from almost 4 years ago that we never used for Allie. And Julia never got beyond a size 3 diaper before she decided she wasn't wearing diapers any more. I'm thinking we'll give them to the local food pantry, who like to have personal and baby items on hand as well as food.

I am so glad, in retrospect, that we had two girls. We went shopping earlier in the month for a complete new summer wardrobe for Allie since she's grown out of the stuff she wore last year. I can't imagine doing that for two kids if we'd had a boy. We don't have any friends who had their kids at the right time for us to get hand-me-downs.

Greg just came out of the shower and he's singing a song with the lyrics, "Oh, I'm so glad I'm me, don't you like what you see," as he wiggles his butt.

This is my life!

I'm stuffed, is it Thanksgiving?

We had a lovely, quiet, food-filled Mother's Day in the Lee household today. My husband made wonderful french toast, ham, and home fries for me this morning (on a tray in bed, thank you very much).

I was so full that I didn't even eat lunch.

Then for dinner tonight, Greg worked for several hours on a truly kick-ass french onion soup. I went to the grocery store with Allie this afternoon and bought a rather slender piece of guyere cheese from Switzerland for $7.53.

Wouldn't you think that Wisconsin, dairy capital of the U.S., would have a dairy making guyere somewhere? Well, if there is, our local grocery store doesn't carry it. I don't know, is there a guyere thing like there's a parmesiana reggiano thing? Limited dairies?

Regardless, we ate big bowls of soup topped with Italian bread and freshly shredded guyere and it was amazing. Dave, you have competition in the soup category! And Greg says he has a new favorite cheese.

Mmmmmm. Happy Mother's Day to all the moms out there!

The green, green grass of home

Who invented lawns, I wonder. I mean, what's the point of having a lawn and having to mow it and mow it and mow it again. Every three days or so, realistically. That's a lot of work.

Just so you can have green stuff around your house during the summer. Hmm. That's assuming, of course, that you're willing to water it in August, when it would naturally go dormant if people didn't putz with it.

Greg cut our grass tonight (yes, I do it too) and because it's been raining a lot lately, the grass had actually already gone to seed.

It's like a lush, needy carpet. Anyone for ground cover and prairie grasses instead? I could go for burning it off once per year instead!

Zeeba neighba

My favorite comic strip of all time is probably Calvin and Hobbes, but the creator stopped drawing it a few years ago and it'll probably never be back.

When I was in high school and college, my favorite comic strip was Garfield. They're still drawing that, but it's just not that funny anymore. Or my taste has grown up, who knows.

My favorite current comic strip is Get Fuzzy. Next is probably Pearls Before Swine, but only when they do strips with these idiotic crocodiles that live next door to a main character, a zebra.

They're always plotting to eat the zebra, but they're really, really stupid. And funny. And they talk like the title above.

You can check it out by following the link off our main page for My Shameful Secret. Enjoy!

Awful children and Willy Wonka

One of those fix-your-family, super-nanny shows was recruiting families for future shows in our area this week. The newspaper reported on where they'd be available for interviews and said that part of the application process was to answer the question, "What's the worst thing your kids have done in the last week?"

Okay, I know I'm completely tempting fate here (and Greg would tell me frantically not to say it because he's pretty superstitious), but I can't think of anything that awful that my kids do. I know, give them time. They're only 6 and 2 3/4, so the major fights are obviously still in our future, but I've spent a little bit of time watching those shows and there are plenty of families with kids that age that are having a terrible time of it.

Kids who scream everything they say and kids who hit while obviously trying to hurt and kids who are god awful in public and kids that are so obviously out of control that you wonder what happened. Were the parents completely out to lunch the first few years or is there some weird kind of genetic mutation out there? You know, exactly the kind of families who got their comeuppance in "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory."

The worst things my kids have done in the last week, let me see: Not sharing things (that's a biggie), pushing each other (but not pushing each other down or anything), hitting mommy (that earns a timeout but a 2-yr-old obviously doesn't do much physical damage), yelling at each other, complaining about being bored (that would be the 6-yr-old), chewing with their mouths open, wanting to wear pajamas all day, and not eating dinner.

The best things my kids have done in the last week: hugging each other, sharing sometimes, giggling together, not using bad words even though they hear Daddy say them, putting up with having their faces washed and sunscreen put on, being excited just for going outside, saying please, thank you, and excuse me, changing clothes without complaint, playing together nicely in the bathtub, helping each other, going to bed without complaint even though it's still light outside, sleeping peacefully through the night, being potty-trained, being nice to the cat, eating fruit instead of asking for candy all the time, doing well in school and at daycare, and sleeping on the weekend at least until 7 a.m.

I love my kids. No super nannies needed right now, thank you.

Peter Pan is sad!

I pulled out my work laptop tonight to review some work stuff and now I'm just blogging while sitting with my feet up in the living room. My husband would use this opportunity to proclaim the superiority of wireless networks . . .

"Forrest Gump" is on TBS and I'm half watching it. I don't know why, I've seen it a bunch of times, plus we own the movie and I could go downstairs and get the tape and I wouldn't have to put up with commercials.

Right now, Jenny is teaching Forrest how to dance.

I'm definitely not watching to the end. I always, always cry when Jenny dies, or at least I tear up.

I'm a sucker for sad moments in movies. The king of all examples of that, however, is from back when I was pregnant with Allie. Greg and I were in the living room and he was flipping through the channels. He decided to pause on a retelling of "Peter Pan."

We literally watched it for about a minute and a half, and they showed a montage of Peter coming to the window of Wendy's room to visit her over the years, each time with Peter the same and Wendy growing older.

And I started to cry. Greg looked over in astonishment at my brimming eyes and said, "What!?"

And all I could blubber back was, "Wendy got old!"

Hormones, I swear!

Car Counting

We visited the in-laws in Illinois this past weekend, for the first time in a disgustingly long while. It was a very nice visit, though too short. Greg and Dave opened the pool, and by the next time we visit, the girls will be able to go swimming.

It was a lot of work, and all I did was watch. When we left in the morning to visit Greg's Grandma Gertie, the cover was still on and it was covered with incredibly nasty green, slimy water. By midafternoon, the lovely blue water of the pool beneath was visible, with just an occasional dead baby mole or shrew or something floating here or there. And worms, lots of dead worms.

Really, it looked lovely! You just had to pretend not to see the floaters (or the stuff on the bottom) and think about how wonderful it will be to slip into it in another month or so. After it's dosed with lots and lots of chemicals. Nice, cleaning, purifying chemicals. I like chemicals. At least in this context, I do.

The girls had a wonderful time on the visit, except for the nine hours or so strapped in their carseats to get there and back. While we were driving back on Sunday afternoon, we played games that I played with my sisters on car rides as a kid. One involves everyone picking a color of car and then seeing who gets to 20 cars of that color first.

It was a lot easier 30 years ago on a two-lane highway. Allie liked it, but she had to rely on me and Greg to tell her what some of the car colors were across the interstate. Fortunately, central and north central Illinois is flatter than a pancake and boring as hell to drive, so I didn't endanger us all too much.

I'm glad we weren't playing "Punch Bug."

Castles and ships and trucks

It was warm today. Really warm. Sunny, breezy, and about 85 degrees at the end of the afternoon. Completely unseasonable for mid-April, but fun. Kind of like a visit from summer for the day--see you soon, ta tah.

We went out to eat dinner in a neighboring town and then to their enormous park and big playground for kids. You know the type--all wood chips and wooden walkways and ramps for kids in wheelchairs. There's the aforementioned castles, a ship, several trucks, a spaceship, a barn, loads of swings, a sandbox with a digger machine, rubber mat bridges to jump on, towers galore, a creaky wooden bridge, a bunch of slides, parallel bars and rings--you get the picture.

The girls had a glorious time. Greg stayed in the car (reading his favorite, an Onion newspaper) and I chased Julia hither and yon for almost an hour while Allie ran wild.

It's funny how different the girls are. It's not like I expected them to turn out the same person, but I think we're basically raising them the same and yet Julia is so different.

She's 33 months old and she's already just as brave, if not braver, than her 6 year old sister. Julia is not afraid of the dark and she will walk up a dark staircase and walk through our darkened bedroom looking for me in the master bathroom. Allie still has to turn on all the lights to get something from upstairs in the evening, if you can get her to go at all.

Julia never met a playground slide she wasn't willing to try immediately (sometimes at her peril). Tonight, she flew down one slide before I could get to the bottom to catch her and she fell off the end onto one leg and her butt, at least a 20 or so inch drop. I got there in time to help her brush off her muddy butt and check her leg, then she was off.

If Allie had taken the same fall even last year, there probably would have been tears and much subsequent fear on every other slide that it might happen again. On the other hand, Julia is at that terrified-of-bugs stage, and Allie thinks they're cool, as long as they're not actually on her.

I wonder if this all means that Julia will turn out to be some kind of sports fiend while Allie will get excellent grades and be part of the chess club. Isn't it wonderful to wonder?

Umm, still trying to think of something clever

The Lee family traveled this weekend to the frozen north. Not really, but we did see, pardon my french, a shitload of snow on the way.

I am not happy about seeing snow at this juncture of the year. There are crocuses blooming in our neighbor's yard and my tulips are about to send up buds, so snow is now supposed to be a thing of the past, except for maybe some very occasional flakes floating picturesquely and then immediately melting as they hit the ground.

At my parents' house (our destination), there was no snow, but the wind was biting cold and yet another reminder of why it's nice to live even a little south of them (where it's warmer!).

We had a lovely early Easter weekend, relaxing for all those involved, since one of my sisters had a recent health scare that turned out well this past Wednesday. We shared a stack of recent portraits of the girls, taken at a great place at the mall a little while back. New pictures all around!

And tomorrow it's back to the salt mines. Easter, however, is still on it's way (hippity, hoppity). There's a bunch of bunny poop in our yard, so the Easter Bunny should be able to find his way back. No more candy for the girls, however. Auntie Pam had her second annual, amazing, Easter egg hunt and they each have a pile of chocolate as big as they are.

We're taking donations now for future dental care.

Now I have to think of clever titles

We had a very quiet weekend. Very quiet, which means we stayed home for the entire time.

We had a better excuse than usual, too. Our usual excuse is that we're being lazy. Our excuse this weekend was that Allie has been sick. She's had a low-grade fever for four days now. Never higher than 101.

No real other symptoms--maybe a little stuffy nose, that's it. And this dang persistent fever.

She's been a good sport. She's eating normally and sleeping a little more than usual. Allie gave up afternoon naps last summer, but until today, she'd napped for at least an hour each of the last three days.

She hasn't complained too much about being bored, and Julia hasn't gotten it. I think, if Julia was going to, that she'd have it by now.

Do you think it's a spring fever?

Titles! I Have Titles!

My husband, Greg is the most wonderful man on the face of the planet. The fact that he is sexy, remarkably powerful (both physically and intellectually), talented and often well groomed should be enough to set him apart from most other men. But there's more. So much more that I swoon at the mere thought of the man.

I'm dizzy just writing about him.

I am truly a fortunate woman.

When I was in college, I wrote a paper for Ethics class on the ethical dilemma I faced in trying to decide whether to discard a plant I loved that had scales. I think that's what the disease is called--little brown hard half shell kind of things clinging to the leaves.

I wrote about how I'd had the plant for years and had tried to medicate the plant without success, and how the disease was getting worse. But I couldn't bear to throw the thing out and was it fair to keep a plant around, knowing it was going to die a horrible death by having these things suck out all of it's juices instead of just dying for lack of water or something if I threw it in a dumpster.

I think I got an A.

I'm always like that with plants. I torture my plants by not watering them for weeks, literally weeks. They do OK regardless, and when certain sentinel plants droop excessively, I water them all and they come back, repeatedly.

Most of my plants, if not all of them, need to be repotted. I've got golden pothos-philodendrem thingys with big stretches of vine that are dead and therefore should be cut out and restarted.

I need a live-in horticulturist. Madison is a pretty educated town--I bet I can find someone with a horticulture doctorate (is there such a thing?) who's driving a cab and looking for a second job, helping out horrible houseplant people. I'll sign right up.

I love James Bond movies. Even the bad ones. Even the ones with Roger Moore, which Greg can't bear to watch because he says Roger Moore doesn't act, he just smirks his way through films.

American Movie Classics has been running another of their periodic Bond series this weekend, so I've seen at least parts of about six or seven different Bond movies. They range from ones in which Bond still wore a hat everywhere to the awful one where Bond fights the voodoo-Tarot influenced African American bad guys in Louisiana.

That one made me cringe because it featured a caricature of a Southern sheriff who called everyone, "boy." Such a product of their times, these films were.

That chase scene through the long-changed downtown streets of Las Vegas in "Diamonds are Forever." The time when Bond "died" after being shot in a Murphy bed, only to be buried "at sea" in the harbor in 15 feet of water, so divers could pick him up and take him to a submarine for his next mission. And who could forget the car in "The Spy Who Loved Me" that turned into a submarine and then back into a car as it drove out of the ocean.

What's not to love in these movies?

And yes, I also worked for three hours on Saturday and got plenty of fresh air and playtime with my daughters and watched my husband spend hours on the computers. When is spring coming???

When we ride in the car, Allie is usually talking to herself, telling stories to entertain herself while Greg and I are talking about grown-up stuff. Julia is usually pretty quiet, unless we all decide to sing songs.

Then the girls take turns entertaining us, with Allie singing her ABCs or Mary Had a Little Lamb or We Are Santa's Elves (from her All School Sing in December, mustn't call it a Christmas Concert). Julia always, always, sings Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, and only Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.

The rotation takes place, Mommy or Daddy throwing in a song occasionally and everyone applauding between each number, with Julia always, always singing Twinkle Twinkle.

Until tonight, at home.

My parents are visiting and my mom was trying to get the girls to sing a song together. That never works. Julia hates it when Allie sings with her, so she'll stop singing immediately and yell at her, "No, I sing!" And Julia won't chime in on Allie's songs.

Somehow, Mom convinced Julia that singing together was an OK idea. The girls sang Twinkle Twinkle together and did a wonderful job. We all applauded and Mom asked what they wanted to sing next.

Allie spoke up and said ABCs, then started singing. And, lo and behold, Julia sang her ABCs along with Allie, not missing a letter. I've never heard her do that before. I didn't know she even knew the song.

It was cool. Ah, the power of grandparents.

Julia has a new game. She sits on the potty chair, which she's been doing a lot but completely successfully lately, and she reads a book.

Her favorite book is "Everybody Poops," which actually belongs to her daddy, for reasons I won't go into. Great book.

She likes to have company, so she'll often insist I sit on the rug at her feet.

This weekend, she finished her book and kept one hand inside the pages. With a sly grin, she said, "Mommy, where's my hand?" Actually, it came out more like "where my han," but that's just cute, so we don't correct her.

I played along and told her, "I don't know, Julia, where did it go?"

She got a huge smile on her face and said, "Here it is," as she revealed her missing hand (once thought lost forever but now miraculously found).

I smiled the first time, then started laughing when she did it another six times.

Greg thinks I'm weird when I laugh at this stuff. I don't care.

Another one of her favorites is to take her booster seat off her dining room chair. She puts in on the floor and stands on the seat, about four inches off the ground.

Then she calls your name until you look at her. She says, "Are you ready?" and then she STEPS OFF THE SEAT AND WAITS FOR THE APPLAUSE.

I never fail to give it, so needless to say, she does it over and over again.

I was almost sorry last Friday night when she started hopping off the seat, which is actually pretty good. I miss the old ways, and my little baby. She's a big girl, and getting bigger every day.

Julia has been wearing big girl panties fulltime for 9 days now and she hasn't had another accident since the first day. This is a big deal. Last night, she protested about having to wear a pull-up to bed so she went completely big-girl with pajamas for the first time. And there was success! No accidents.

The only problem with this system is that when she wakes up in the morning, she doesn't play quietly for a little while any more. Instead, she immediately start yelling, "Mommy, I gotta go potty. Mommy, I gotta go potty." Needless to say, you don't dally in bed.

But why do they always have to call for Mommy?

Allie called for me twice in the middle of Friday night. "Mommy!" "Mommy!" She had bad dreams. Last weekend, she threw up in the middle of Saturday night. Frantic calls of "Mommy!"

All right, I shouldn't complain. I'm the one who wanted children and this is part of the package. I'll sleep all night through and late on weekend mornings when they go to college.

We forgot that today was the day for Allie's third kindergarten field trip. An exciting excursion to the Madison City Bus Garage!

Yes, you read that right. She went to the Madison Metro Bus Garage, I guess to look at busses (buses, how do you spell the plural of bus anyway?).

She said she liked it, except that it was dirty and she got her pants dirty. Allie is nothing if not a girly girl.

I don't know how they could keep things clean though. We got about an inch of snow this morning that later melted and made dirty, slushy sprays out of every vehicle's tires.

Meanwhile, Julia has spent the last two days at daycare wearing big girl panties, not pull-ups. This afternoon, she had her first accident when she pooped, but she hasn't peed in her big girl pants yet.

She's only 31 months. It seems early to me to try this considering that we potty-trained Allie at 33 months, but she seems ready. Onward to the end of diapers!!!

My mom urged me to write about something that happened to my brother-in-law this weekend, so here goes . . .

My family's suite at the hotel this weekend was three rooms. Two rooms on either side, each with a bathroom and two queen beds. One room in the middle with a full kitchen, dining area, breakfast bar, fireplace, balcony, sleeper sofa--and then beyond double doors, a kingsize bed and a bathroom.

My immediate family (me, Greg and the girls) was in one of the side rooms and my parents were in the other side room. My sister Pam and her boyfriend had the area with the king bed and my sister Claudette and her husband, Mike, had the sleeper sofa area.

My parents went to bed early Friday night and so did the Lee family. My sisters and their men went to a couple of the hotel bars and then came back to their room. Pam and her boyfriend, Jeff, went to bed, and Claudette also crashed.

Mike wasn't sleepy yet, so he had a few drinks and then fell asleep, still wearing his jeans, either in the chair or on the sleeper sofa. He woke up about 1:30 a.m., needing to pee.

He didn't want to turn a light on and wake Pam and Jeff, so he walked quietly through the double doors, past their bed, and towards the bathroom. He must have still been asleep though, because instead of going left into the bathroom, he went out the door into the hotel hallway. The door locked behind him and there he was, barefoot and wearing just jeans, at 1:30 a.m., in the hallway.

He could have just knocked on the door, but he didn't want to wake anyone and he still had to pee, badly. He wandered around the hotel looking for a bathroom and he got lost.

He wandered around some more and then found his way eventually to the main lobby. Even though he didn't have any I.D. on him (and in any case, the hotel rooms weren't in his name), he convinced the hotel clerks that they should give him another key to our rooms.

Mike says he remembered all three room numbers, but I still think it's amazing they gave him a keycard. I guess they figured--1:45 at night, only wearing jeans when it's 10 degrees outside, barefoot--it's gotta be a true story.

So he found his way back up to the fourth floor, let himself in, and went quietly back to bed. We all had no idea, until the next morning, that he had had such an adventure.

Now, if my husband wants to explain how he completely ripped out the crotch of one of his pairs of jeans-----

My feet hurt. And not in the oh-I-walked--a-little-more-than-usual-in-the-last-couple-of-days way, but in the ow-I-think-I-have-a-bunch-of-microcuts-on-the-bottom-of-my-feet way.

You spend the better part of two days walking around barefoot in an indoor water park with hundreds and hundreds of other people. You stand for a total of a couple of hours in lines on always-wet staircases where other people stood just moments before and you hope that foot disease transmittal rates are low. Because you know no one is disinfecting those stairs at night.

That's the kind of thing I think about, not about cryptosporidium, like my husband. The women's locker room at Kalahari was always packed, with every locker taken and the floor wet and kinda slimy always and bits of old bandaids and pieces of waterlogged food and paper slowly disintegrating along the walls (you hope).

I did not ever intend to walk through the locker room without shoes on, but unfortunately, right before we started to leave, Allie suddenly had to pee and the other bathrooms (that are a little less used) were a good block away. So we walked in the locker room without shoes at the busiest time of the day. Ick.

This was right after my family watched the efforts of about six or seven people to disinfect the kiddie pool after four floaters were found (and I don't mean air-filled floatie toys).

It was a fun trip overall and we'll definitely go there again despite the germies because it's a good time, but it's good to be home.

There was music playing. Julia had on a pink princess dress and she was dancing around the living room.

Allie started to get up, saying, "I want to dance too."

And Julia hollered at the top of her little lungs, "No! You sit on butt!"

Such a wonderful sibling relationship.

When we met, I had a cat and Greg had a cat. The two of us moved in together after we got engaged and so did our cats. The transition did not go well for the cats (HUGE understatement).

My cat, Butterscotch, had been living in my condo for two years already. Poor Pig, Greg's cat, had never lived anywhere but Greg's apartment. Pig also didn't know she was a cat. You might laugh, but that's because you never saw her sitting on the bathroom counter, mournfully meowing at herself in the mirror because that thing that she saw wouldn't come and play.

Anyway, after the move, Pig lived in the spare bedroom of the condo by herself for a good two weeks (her choice). Then she came out, only to growl and hiss at anything that moved (and this is a very mellow cat) and to slink around with her butt pretty much touching the ground.

Things got better eventually, but only very gradually. We have a picture on the fridge of the two cats lying on our bed at the condo somewhat together, because that was such a rarity.

Back in 2002, Butterscotch got very skinny (liver cancer, the vet thought) and we had him put to sleep (sniff). Pig was once again the queen of the home and she seemed pretty happy.

Last spring (April), Pig started getting skinny, and she also starting drinking ALL OF THE TIME. Yep, $400 later, we had confirmed what we knew--diabetes. After much soul searching, we decided not to treat her (no comments please). We bought her some special prescription diabetes cat food and waited to see what would happen.

I remember worrying last year on our trip to Europe (in May) if our catsitters would have to deal with her dying. I left a power of (cat treatment) attorney document, just in case.

Uh huh. Yep. That was nine months ago. Yep, nine months.

Pig is just peachy. She's still much skinnier than she used to be (but she used to be pretty fat, especially when she ate most of Butterscotch's food for the months he was sick). She still drinks like a fiend. She still eats the prescription cat food.

And she's still sweet and mellow and a real lap warmer. She's very patient with the girls (even the 2 year old) and she decorates our house with her hair (like all cats). We love her very much, and even though she's not going to live forever, we're very happy she's still part of our family.

Now get off the back of the upholstered chair, Pig. You're ruining the cushion (and enjoying the softest place to sleep in the house).

We visited Barnes and Noble a couple of months ago, which we don't do very much these days. The girls always want new books read to them and we don't get to just read things ourselves, which is half the fun of going to Barnes and Noble.

Greg, bless his heart, volunteered to take the girls somewhere and I had an hour or so to myself. This was right after Oprah had selected "A Million Little Pieces" as her book club selection, so the book was front and center as I entered the store.

I grabbed a copy and found a vacant cushy chair. I didn't want to buy the book, just figure out what Oprah had seen in it. I started reading and I was completely hooked. I sat there and devoured the pages.

I even started crying at one point. And I don't think it was from reading the description of his non-medicated root canals.

I thought it was a wonderful book. I really don't care that it's not truthful. It moved me. I learned from it. Time flew while I read it.

Greg bought it for me for Christmas. I'm glad I own it and I'm not going to stow it at the back of some shelf and pretend I wasn't entranced by it. It's a great book, no matter if it's fiction or nonfiction.

Doing performance appraisals is the pits.

Even when you work in Human Resources and it's your job to make sure that the appraisal conversations that take place in your company are productive, informative, and motivating, you know that most appraisal conversations leave the appraisalee at least a little ticked off.

The boss never seems to think they're as great as they themselves think. Don't believe me? Try having people appraise themselves and then compare your scores to theirs. Not fun, but it induces productive, informative conversations.

It's too bad someone ends up unmotivated most of the time.

I read in the paper today that OK is the most common spoken word in the English language.

Tonight, I was bathing both girls in the bathtub. They'd both been scrubbed and next I sudsed up Julia's hair. I put a rolled-up washcloth on her forehead to help divert some of the rinse water and then pushed her head back gently as I said, "Look up, Julia, look up," to help keep more water off her face.

She wasn't looking up, so I repeated myself, but my gentle push was a little too hard for her resistance. She started slipping backwards in the water, so she put her hands back and started yelling as her butt slid a little bit on the slick bathtub bottom.

She didn't go under or anything, but she definitely wasn't happy, especially since she now had water dripping all over her face. I immediately wiped the water off with the washcloth. I told her, "I'm sorry, Julia. Are you OK, are you OK?"

Her emphatic reply--"I NOT OK."

I guess this was one of those times when that word (plus two others) said it all.

Allie and Greg have both been taking piano lessons for about two months now. Neither of them practices nearly enough, unless you consider 1/2 hour just before their 1/2 hour lesson enough.

I told Greg that we need to get serious both about Allie practicing piano (Greg is a big boy, he can remember to practice by himself) and about Allie practicing reading (Greg has that one covered).

Last night, we worked a little on her reading. Tonight we were in the living room, watching TV with the sound on low, while Allie tried to play "Mary Had a Little Lamb," among other songs, in the dining room. She was doing well, so we hollered some encouragement.

She did not think she was doing well, so she hollered back, "This one is called Head Music." Blamm, blamm, blamm, blamm, came the sound. She's a prodigy!

Back in the day when I lived in central Illinois (before meeting and marrying Greg), my family developed this custom called "Blank" Family Weekend. No, obviously not really "blank," but I don't know that my parents want their last name splashed over the internet.

Each February, we'd plan an annual weekend getaway somewhere in northern Illinois (about halfway between our homes). We went to Rockford and Elgin (I believe it was Elgin because don't they have a casino there?) and so on. Stay at a hotel with an indoor pool and either shopping or the aforementioned casino readily available.

It was fun and a nice break in the winter. There's a photo somewhere of me and my sisters jumping on a hotel bed. We'd have drinks and snacks in the room, go swimming, and eat somewhere highly recommended by AAA.

Then I had my first date with Greg and shortly afterwards, the first time my family met him was on a Blank Family Weekend.

We had one more family weekend the next year and then we lost the habit. I lost my job, Greg and I moved to Wisconsin, we bought our house and we had Allie. Since her birthday is at the end of January and everyone comes to our house for it, we didn't revive the custom.

Well, I figure it's been 10 whole years, but we're bringing back the Blank Family Weekend. Sometime in February, me and Greg and our girls and my parents and my sister Pam and her man Jeff and my sister Claudette and her husband Mike are all going to vacation together in Wisconsin Dells.

I am really truly looking forward to it. The rooms we're getting have a full kitchen and dining area, fireplace, four TVS, three bathrooms (one with whirlpool tub), and three balconies (which I'm sure we'll make much use of in February, but it'll make for a nice view). It's at one of the many resorts with an indoor water park, so our girls will exhaust themselves and collapse happy.

How many weeks do I have to wait?

So I got my new business cards today. I'm ridiculously proud of them. Human Resources Director. I can't thank my old boss enough for being entrepreneurial minded and wanting to open her own business, so I could earn her job.

It's been an OK three weeks so far. Lots of overtime. Finding my feet, while Greg holds down the fort. What a sweetie.

And he remembered to send me beautiful flowers on the 11th anniversary of our first date. I am indeed a lucky woman.

But I knew that already.

I got it! I got it!

I got the promotion that I've been trying for since, literally, May. It was May when my boss gave notice and, as of December 25 (Merry Christmas to me!), I've been promoted. Woo hoo!

Woo hum--oh, boy. Do I have the challenges in front of me, boy howdy. But I work with good people and I'm mostly excited. It's going to be a challenging, interesting, amazing time. If I don't wear out and die first.

Wish me luck!

Christmas is coming! Christmas is coming!

And now that I spent hours yesterday shopping and wrapping, I'm OK with that. I bought a bunch of gifts, including a couple for my husband that he is going to love (tee hee--he has to wait six more days). The stores were crowded, but not too bad.

The longest wait I had to check out was shopping with Greg on a Tuesday afternoon for the girls at Toys R Us--twenty minutes from when we got in line to when we walked out. On a Tuesday. That place must be insane on a Saturday.

I bought the gifts I owe my sister and dad for their birthdays from October (oops) and at work, open enrollment is finally over (we met with about 650 people, individually). There's only four days of work this week before a long, long weekend and I'm excited about that.

Life is good. Happy Holidays!

All of us in the Lee household made Christmas cookies yesterday. Flour everywhere. It was fun.

I used to make cutout cookies with my sisters and my mom every year when I was a little girl. We'd pull out the bag of cookie cutters and wonder why we never made cutout cookies at any other time of the year, so we could use the heart cutter and the clover cutter and the bunny cutter.

Then we'd make a double batch of Christmas cutouts and we'd remember why we didn't do them at any other time of the year--it took a really long time to roll and out bake that many cookies.

I don't have my mom's recipe (I should ask her for it), so when my family has made cutouts for the last three years, we've used a sugar cookie recipe from someone I used to work with. Here's a shoutout to Bev Gardner of Decatur, Illinois, who I unfortunately haven't talked to in at least five years.

It's so sad and so typical. You spend literally years of your life with people at work and then you leave or they do and you both vow to stay in touch and after, say, three years max, you don't talk to them anymore.

Well, Bev, your Eisenhower sugar cookie recipe is an integral part of my family's burgeoning history. Thank you! Onward to frosting!

We decided to make Julia's crib into a toddler bed. It converts by just taking the front rail off and tah-dah, toddler day bed. We were stupid.

We thought that Julia, the second child, would be like Allie, the first child. Allie stayed in her bed. She woke up on weekend mornings, called us to tell us she was awake, and stayed in bed, sometimes even when urged to join us in our room. Allie woke from naps, called to tell us she was awake, and stayed in bed until we came to get her.

Julia does not do this. Big surprise.

We put Julia in her bed and she stands up and jumps on her fun, bouncy mattress. Even though she always could reach, she's now figured out that she can reach the overhead light switch from her bed. So she turns on the light. And turns it off. And turns it on and leaves it on when it's an hour past her bedtime.

She gets out of bed and knocks on her bedroom door, trying to get us to come and let her out. (I said we were stupid, but we're not that dumb. Her door sticks, so she can't pull it open. She does have to stay in her room if we want her to.)

Julia lays on the floor just inside the door, with the overhead light on, and revels in her independence and control of her environment. It makes me smile and tear up at the same time.

Big girl.

I can't believe this is my 107th post. Who da thunk I had so much to say.

So it's time for a lecture--hey you, go donate blood! Yes, you! Don't be a chicken, you can do it. It's really no big deal. Hey, if I've done it 55 times so far (over the last, oh my god--could it be, 20 years), you can too.

Think about it. How much do you really do for charity. Uh huh. Uh huh. Yeah, we send a lot of clothes to St. Vinnie's too. Uh huh. Boy, that isn't a very impressive list, frankly. Did you know that I used to tutor a woman for the Literacy Council of Green Bay years ago and she got so much charity food at Christmas and Thanksgiving that she offered some to me? Sorry, off the subject. But occasional food donations still aren't too impressive.

You know, you could donate blood. All it takes is a little time and you don't even have to open your wallet, except to take out your donor card the second and subsequent times you donate.

They're really nice to you. They give you kool-aid or orange juice and brownies, cookies, and crackers galore afterwards. AND YOU HAVE TO EAT THEM! Isn't that the coolest? You have to eat them to get your sugar levels back in balance (plus drink water, but that's boring). So no matter what you ate for lunch or how close it is to dinner--EAT UP! You've earned it. Doesn't that sound tempting?

Donate blood, give it a try. You might need some someday, you know. And you'd have paid your psychic debt if you've donated even a few times in the past. See, it's karma! Everybody needs good karma, right?

So seriously, try donating blood. It's a good thing to do, only 3 percent of Americans do it, and you can actually save a life. Donating an old can of sauerkraut just doesn't compare.

Julia is now 27 months old and she knows how to count to ten. How do I know that she can do it without coaxing her by getting her started? Allie, me, and Julia play hide-and-seek. And when it's Julia's turn to count, there you go.

Allie and I usually count to twenty, so Julia counts to ten, then goes llellen, then she pauses and starts over with one again. The second time through, though, she says one, two, three and then uncovers her eyes and hollers, "Here come!"

Julia is also completely in love with her candy bucket from Halloween. We really need to hide the buckets of both kids, but Greg and I aren't completely finished stealing all the chocolate yet. So Julia carries her candy bucket around the house, tries to take it to daycare (I don't think so!), and insists that her bucket be next to her head when we lay her down to change her diaper.

In the morning, she wakes up a little and almost immediately remembers (well before any thought crosses Allie's mind) that she has a bucket full of candy somewhere, so off she goes to look for it. I don't let her eat candy for breakfast, obviously, but the hope in her little brain springs eternal. We're planning an addict intervention for next week Tuesday.

My sisters love Cancun. They love it so much, in fact, that they recently planned for and paid for their fourth (yep, you read that right, fourth) trip to the same resort in Cancun in the last 8-9 years.

Unfortunately . . . . .

They're scheduled to leave on November 5 for their resort. Wonder if it's still there?

In other news, Betsy and Chris (of the tornado tale) are expecting their third baby! Congratulations to them and their two girls. It turns out that Betsy was about 2 weeks pregnant when they lost their house. Rebuilding is underway, and with any luck, they'll be in their rebuilt house about a month before the baby comes.

Destruction and construction all around.

Happiness all around!

This month is the time to celebrate my parents' 45th wedding anniversary, my dad's 67th birthday, our 9th anniversary, and my sister's 44th birthday. Hallmark is earming record profits this month, by the way.

Last weekend, I took the girls to a fast food place for lunch while Greg was off at his vroom-vroom class. We were eating (or Allie and I were eating while Julia busied herself sucking ketchup over and over again off one french fry) when a bride-to-be came in, complete with veil and attendant.

Someone asked her when the wedding was (it was about 12:30) and she said 2:00. I told her that Saturday was my parent's 45th and she exclaimed, "that's a good omen." Indeed.

Ah, wedded bliss. Right now my loving husband is downstairs on the couch, watching a trashy show about celebrity couples while moaning that his stomach is upset, and I'm on a different floor of the house surfing the web and blogging. We do love each other, honestly. But, at least some of the time, I believe this is how we got to 9 years.

Happy Anniversary, Honey!

The other night, Greg and I were in the kitchen talking about work when Allie came over and said, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I need to tell you about something that happened at school today." Where does she get this stuff? She's 5!

Fortunately, she still acts like a little girl most of the time. Recently, I called her "buttercup." She smiled, then asked me what a buttercup was, then gave me a huge hug (with a face-splitting smile) when I told her.

She's sweet. Even though she looks grown up these days. Something about her wearing jeans and Converse tennies and hoodies--- And she's getting so tall. Allie's going to be 6 in about 3 months and I can't believe it. What happened to my baby?

I was reading an article in a human resources magazine the other day about how something like 40 percent of Americans lose some vacation every year because they don't take it. And something like 68 percent said that they check either voice or e-mail messages while they're on vacation. And something like 85 percent did not take 5 days of vacation in a row last year.

It's official, we're vacation deprived. Especially, as the experts like to point out, compared to Europe. Would I like the entire month of August off? You betcha. Would I actually do it? Of course not. The world would fall apart, wouldn't it?

We're all so absolutely necessary. At least we tell ourselves so--how immodest.

And how many of the past 10 years have I taken off 5 days of vacation in a row? This year was the first year in 10, since Greg and I went on our honeymoon. Sigh.

Date Night!

Last night, Greg and I got to go on a romantic, no kids-- date. My parents were here at the end of this week, taking care of our two girls because our daycare was closed and they stuck around so we could go out for dinner and a movie last night. Thanks for everything, Mom and Dad!

We ate at Crave, which is one of those oh-so-modern, trendy food type of restaurants and everything was very good. The best part of the meal, however, was the dessert. Strawberry shortcake, in a tall skinny glass, layed and yummy.

After dinner, we walked around the Monona Terrace rooftop garden and looked at the views. It was a beautiful night, not too cold.

Then we drove to the theater and saw, "The 40 Year Old Virgin," which was excellent. Bawdy, sweet, cringe-inducing, very funny.

We did call to say goodnight to the girls. Sweet dreams, glad you aren't here!

My mom, who is one of the few who reads my blog, told me this morning that I needed to update it because she was tired of facing my tornado story. This demand for update on a blog is, by the way, from a woman who didn't know what a blog was until about 2 1/2 years ago and who didn't own a computer until about 4 years ago. When she got the computer, she said she was only going to use it to look at the pictures we were posting of her first grandchild. Uh huh. Now she asks for blog updates and whizzes her way around the internet.

So what's been happening? Lots of things in our town, in the aftermath of the storm. I drove out to see what was left of Betsy's and Chris's house a few weeks ago, once the state police took down the roadblocks intended to keep out gawkers like me. I drove to see Betsy's house and then came home, so I don't know that I win a gawker's first prize.

By the time I saw where their home used to be, there was nothing left but the foundation and they were waiting for a report from an engineer to see if they were going to be able to rebuild on it--they are. They still hadn't drained the murky swimming pool in the backyard yet as of last week and because they can't see the bottom, they have no idea what might be in it. For all they know, there could be a car down there. They're not going to be able to safely garden in their yard for years, too, because of all the broken glass in the soil.

The 3-year-old, Erin, talks a lot about the poopy tormado (not tornado) that wrecked her house. Maddie, the 5-year-old, doesn't talk about it at all. She started kindergarten on schedule, though. They're going to be OK.

Allie started kindergarten on September 6 and she loves it. Last night, as she did last Friday night, she almost started to cry because she wasn't going to be able to go to school on Saturday. She's made new friends, including a little girl named Maddy (different girl than above) who sat at Allie's table at lunch every day and cried. Allie's nothing if not a sensitive soul, so I don't think she ate lunch for the first 7-8 days while she too tried not to cry.

Allie's not too crazy about hot lunch--she likes her daddy's sandwiches, made fresh every morning. She got to go on her first field trip yesterday, to a nature center, and she learned all about plants and bugs and saw a real tarantula. Allie did not want to touch any bug, by the way.

She's had gym class 5 times so far and all the games they play sound like they involve extensive running. She's had art a bunch of times and she's working on some project that she hasn't talked too much about. Allie likes music class, and she loves her reading buddy (reading with a 4th grader) which is once per week. She's already brought home three books from the school library (sequentially, they can only take out one at a time).

And she's doing great walking the three blocks from her bus stop to daycare, thank goodness. That was the thing Greg and I were the most stressed over. She's done it completely by herself at least a couple of times and she often walks at least part of the way with other kids. Now we can just start worrying about winter walking.

Meanwhile, Julia is doing just fine at daycare. She's talking in phrases all the time now. When I opened her window shade this morning, she saw a bird and called my attention to it, then spent a good 3-4 minutes telling me the bird was "Up, in da sky. Up, in da sky. Up, in da sky." Yes, I got that, Julia.

She hasn't bitten anyone in ages, knock on wood, but she does hit. I have to confess that I'm not going to worry about that. It's usually Allie and Allie usually deserves it. Now if she would just eat------ Well, I suppose she eats like a normal toddler, but that's not very much. The kid is still skinny and tall.

I got a raise last month, which is awesome, and we're spending a little less on daycare now. Pig, the cat, is still doing OK despite her diabetes, and the grass outside is actually greening up in places now that it's cooler. The newspaper said we should be giving our trees a drink, though, since it hasn't really rained in ages.

That's the update on our family and household. How are you doing?

Tornado Stories

Some information about what happened to us and to our friends yesterday . . .

Our girls were sitting at the kitchen table, eating some apple slices, and Greg was going in and out, grilling leftover prime rib, when our weather radio went off. We shushed the girls to listen to the broadcast, which said that we were under a tornado warning, with severe weather to the far north and far west of us.

We looked at each other and then silenced the radio. I ran upstairs to get on the computer in our bedroom, so I could see the radar and tell whether stuff was coming our way. As the computer booted up, I looked out the side window of our bedroom and saw clouds in the not-very-far-away distance, black and rotating.

I ran downstairs, yelling to Greg, who was now sitting at the kitchen table with the girls, to come outside now to see the clouds. We both saw the formation of the tornado.

I ran back in and grabbed Julia from the table, where she was screaming because everyone had gone outside. I pulled Allie with me and we went downstairs to the basement. Greg stayed outside.

I booted up the computer downstairs and tried to get a weather radar up, and turned on the TV. Just then, the cable went out and both girls started crying because they were so scared and because the TV was turned up really loud (it made a static noise).

Our lights flickered a couple of times but we couldn't hear anything happening. The online connection on the computer didn't work because we have a cable modem. The girls and I stayed downstairs for perhaps 5 minutes while Greg stayed outside, taking the video you see on the main site.

When I couldn't stand not knowing any more what was happening, I went upstairs with both girls--there was no way they were going to stay downstairs without me. By then, the tornado had moved probably a mile or so to the east and was clearly not going to hit us.

Greg had watched it go behind our water tower from west to east, which meant it was at least 1/2 mile away, but we didn't know how far exactly. It turns out it was about 1 mile away or so--an F3 tornado with winds estimated at 200 miles per hour. The path of severe destruction is 1/2 mile wide. This thing looked huge. Greg's video doesn't do it justice. The news tonight said it was Wisconsin's strongest tornado in the last decade.

One man died in his basement when his chimney fell on him, so sad. The saddest story that touched us personally was about our friends, Betsy and Chris. They lost their house, their beautiful 1 1/2 yr. old all brick, three-car garage, inground pool, screened-in porch home on the golf course.

The garage is gone, the bricks (that they agonized over the choosing the color of) are stripped off, the second story is gone, the roof on the screened in porch extension fell straight down, and the pool is, of course, full of debris. Some of the walls of the first floor are still standing, but the house is completely ruined. Most of it that didn't blow away fell into the basement, where Chris was sheltering with their two girls who are 5 and 3.

Betsy had gone to play in a softball game, which means that this morning all she owned was her game t-shirt, shorts, and cleats. Chris saw the tornado coming across the golf course and took the girls to the basement. They just got there and hunkered down when the tornado hit and the house fell apart.

After the noise stopped, Chris managed to find a way out--he doesn't remember anything about how except that he carried both girls and kicked things out of the way with his bare feet (he hadn't been wearing shoes in the house). They had to get out immediately because of the strong smell of gas.

They started walking towards Betsy's parents house, which is about 2 blocks away, out of the path of major damage, and someone gave them a ride there. In the meantime, Betsy's brother, Dan, came running from his house, which is about 2 blocks in the other direction. He saw Chris's wallet in the car, which was now in the driveway, more or less, instead of in the garage, and knew that Chris and the girls had been home.

Dan had the presence of mind to turn off the gas (and he knew how to do it, heroic guy) and he eventually figured out where they had gone. Shortly after Dan left, Betsy arrived at the house with a couple of other people. You used to be able to see the house from about 1/2 mile away as you drove in, and Betsy could tell that the house wasn't really there anymore.

She got to what was left of the house and things were dead silent. The three of them spent what had to be an agonizing 15 minutes or so calling Chris's and the girls' names, trying to figure out if anyone was still in the house, before they found out where Chris and the girls had gone. Can you imagine how Betsy felt for that time? It makes tears come to my eyes.

They're all OK, at least physically. Erin, the 3 year old, asked for a nookie last night when she got tired enough to sleep, and Betsy's family managed to find one for her. The family didn't have anything to call their own until this morning, when they bought some basic supplies. That is, except an exceptional family support network that will get them through this.

Another friend and co-worker was driving and ended up just south of the tornado when it cut across the highway. She ended up lying in a muddy ditch while it passed, next to a man and a woman who was sobbing hysterically. They're all OK.

Two cars had a t-bone accident right in front of her, right before she went into the ditch, and I haven't heard that those people were injured too severely. There are 4 people hospitalized, one in serious condition.

Another co-worker had an aunt and uncle whose house was destroyed. Her cousin was sleeping in an upstairs bedroom before she ran to the basement and she ended up outside after the tornado passed wearing only a silk nightie. As of last night, she still didn't know where her car had ended up. It was gone.

It could have been much, much worse, really--small consolation to those who lost everything. If it had come 1 mile further south, into our town proper, there probably would have been multiple deaths and millions more dollars in damage. We're just giving thanks that things are OK for us. We were lucky, really lucky.

Allie asked what would happen if a tornado came again. I told her that tornados don't come very often at all, and now that one came close to us, it will be a long, long time before we see another one. I pray that that's correct.

Allie and I played Snow White this afternoon. Originally, she wanted to play Hide N Seek, but then she decided to watch the movie, and afterwards . . .

To play Snow White, Mommy has to become the evil queen. She looks in the mirror in the bathroom and says the "Mirror, mirror" line, then when she gets the answer, she looks at the beautiful Princess Snow White and strikes her dead with a bolt of evil magic from her fingertips.

She gloats over the dead princess, then turns away to plot and mumble aloud about her next step (something involving a glass coffin, I would assume). And then, magically, Snow White comes back to life and runs away.

The next two rounds involve Snow White running, getting struck by evil magic, waking up and getting away. Then Allie's rules say that the fourth time she's struck, she doesn't wake up.

The evil queen puts a baby blanket over her face (cause it was it the room) and the beautiful princess has to lay there until the evil queen becomes the handsome prince and kisses her awake.

As soon as we've finished one game, Allie immediately wants to switch places and make me die four or so times. After we switch roles twice more, Allie decides that I have to stay dead. I lay dead on the couch (the floor got hard after dying that many times) while she tells me the prince isn't coming.

He isn't? Bummer.

My husband has been playing Metroid on a GameBoy for three straight hours--no exaggeration. I don't even think he's gotten out of the chair to pee.

Oh, he made a wonderful dinner first, but then he disappeared. The girls and I played together, I got them in their jammies, and I put them to bed (Allie did kiss Daddy goodnight--he paused the game for that).

He's going to develop carpal tunnel, I know it.

Allie, by the way, is learning to read. Tonight we read, "Harry, the Dirty Dog." Allie read as many as four words in a row. She's not going to be the most advanced kid in kindergarten, but she should be able to hold her own.

In comparison, there's a boy in her tumbling class who is so backwards in behavior. He has to be at least 4 or 4 1/2. But he starts to cry when he doesn't get to sit on the red stripe on the floor. He won't stretch unless he's pretty much in his dad's lap.

And his father futilely warns, "We're going to leave, Danny (name changed to protect the problem child)," when you can tell they've never left anything due to his behavior.

My children are very imperfect, but at least they're independent children who can do things on their own and demand to do things on their own. We're lucky. At least we're lucky so far!

It's been three months since my boss gave notice. Nothing, and I mean nothing, has happened yet. There's one silver lining to that. If I actually got the job, I probably would never have time to blog anymore.

We had Julia's birthday party and a surprise early birthday party for me. If you know me well, you may already have a customized U.S. Department of Toast t-shirt from my party. They're gorgeous and my husband is a wonderful man.

Forty is coming up fast. I decorated the house for Julia's birthday with gold streamers and Greg said, "Well, Deb, we can just leave those up for 10 years and have them for your 50th birthday party."

I hate my husband.

Julia is going to be two years old next week. That means I've been blogging for over two years. Not that I've put that much effort into it at times, I must admit.

We've been teaching Julia to say "Two," when someone asks how old she is, so she already thinks she's two. Unfortunately, that extends to her behavior.

The terrible twos have arrived early. She has huge tantrums when she doesn't get what she wants or when you don't understand what she's telling you. She'll repeat the same word over and over, louder and louder, while you vainly try to suggest things she might want.

And, oh my god. The child loves to Go. I say Go with a capital G because she'll Go anywhere. To Madison, to the mailbox, to Chicago, to the grocery store--it doesn't matter as long as it's out of the house.

On the plus side, she nearly always says Please and she is excellent about saying Thank you. So after she finished screaming "Q - pee" at you for the tenth time and you figure out she wants her "cuppie," even though she's already holding a cup (she wants juice instead of milk), she will say Thank you in that now-cute-again little voice.

She sings, she dances, she gives great hugs and she's damn cute. We just have to get through the next 16 years and we'll be good-to-go. Hah.

I have to head out now. We're taking the girls to see "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory." I hope the bratty one behaves (which one I mean by that, I won't know until we get there).